Chapter Thirteen
“Ugh.” Sam woke the following day with a groan.
Her throat was dry, her head kind of hurt, and she was exceptionally physically uncomfortable.
Her arms were squished down at her sides, and a heavy weight on her side prevented her from freeing them.
Wait, that wasn’t a weight, it was a body.
That was Dallis. “Argh.” She groaned again.
“What?” Dallis’s voice was muffled. “What is the noise all about?” She raised her head to look at Sam, but quickly dropped it back down again when a glint of sunlight peeked out from behind the curtain and slanted across her face. “Make that go away,” she mumbled.
“What?” Sam asked, trying unsuccessfully to extricate herself. “You want me to make the sun go away?”
“No,” Dallis whispered. “Just make it stop shining.”
“Okay.” Sam chuckled. “Because I’m a god now.” She finally figured out that the only way to free herself was to slide off the couch, but both her arms were still numb, so she ended up landing with a thud on her side. “Ouch.”
“That sounded like that hurt.” Dallis quickly slid into the space that Sam had abandoned. She pulled a throw blanket across her face to shield herself from the sun, which was still shining. “Stupid sun,” she muttered.
After careful maneuvering, Sam finally made it to her feet and looked down at Dallis on the couch.
She was racking her brain, trying to remember how the rest of the night had gone.
There was dancing. And there were shots.
But everything after a certain point was a blur.
She and Dallis had obviously spent the night together, squeezed onto Jordan’s tiny couch, but what else had happened?
She shook her head. She never drank that much. How did she let herself go so far?
“For the record—” Dallis’s voice was muffled by the blanket over her head that was blocking out the sun. “Nothing happened.” She peeked around the corner of the blanket to look at Sam.
“How sure are you?” Sam asked, afraid of the answer. She looked down at herself, taking stock of her appearance. She was fully clothed.
“Oh, Sam.” Dallis chuckled. “If something had happened between us, there is no way you would forget it.” She turned and snuggled back into the blanket. “And, anyway—” Her voice was still muffled. “Do not flatter yourself. You’re right fit, but you are so not my type.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam’s tone was incredulous.
She stood over Dallis with her hands on her hips.
“I thought you said I was a catch?” In reality, she was debating over whether she was insulted or relieved.
She needed coffee to make that decision.
She made her way into Jordan’s galley kitchen to get a pot brewing.
“You are a catch,” Dallis called after her. “Just not the fish for me. I don’t even want fish. I’m a vegetarian now.”
“Oh my God, what are you talking about?” Sam raked her hands through her hair and across her face.
She leaned against the counter and willed the coffee to brew faster.
She felt the same way about Dallis, but she wasn’t going to tell her that now.
Last night had been fun. Dallis was great fun.
She was smart and easy to talk to. She was also undoubtedly one of the most gorgeous women Sam had ever met, but she was not attracted to her in the slightest. She did, however, know that they were going to make excellent friends.
Finally, the coffee was close to done brewing.
She snatched the pot and filled up her mug and another for Dallis.
She dug through Jordan’s cupboards, but there was no maple syrup to be found.
How did he even live? She settled for honey and made her way back over to the couch.
She reached out and tugged on the edge of the throw blanket, whipping it off Dallis and exposing her to the offending sunlight.
“Hey!” Dallis cried out, throwing her hands over her eyes. “That’s not nice!”
“Maybe not,” Sam agreed. “But I did make coffee.” She handed Dallis the mug and went back to retrieve her own. She lifted Dallis’s feet and slid under them. Dallis shifted on the couch to make room for her but left her feet in Sam’s lap.
Dallis studied her. “Admit it,” she said after taking a long sip. “You don’t want to be my fish, do you?”
Sam looked over at Dallis, who was smiling behind her coffee cup. Sam smiled back. How did someone she just met seem to know her so well? “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I really don’t.” She paused and took a sip.
“Because of Alex,” Dallis stated, looking smug.
“Because of Alex.” Sam finally agreed, shaking her head. She paused and took a sip. “Now, can we please stop talking about fish?”
They sat there in silence, sipping their coffees.
Sam’s thoughts raced through her head. Had she finally admitted to the elephant in the room?
She and Alex. Really? After all these years.
How would that even work? Was Alex even interested in her like that?
Or was she just being friendly? Sam let out a sigh. Too many questions. Not enough coffee.
“So…” Dallis started, interrupting her thoughts. “What are we going to do about that?”
“What are we going to do about what?” Jordan asked.
He pulled on a shirt as he made his way into the room, his hair sticking up.
He stood at the edge of the couch and looked down at the two of them before reaching out to swipe Sam’s coffee cup from her hand.
He took a drink and then grimaced, handing it back to her with a scowl.
“How do you drink it like that?” He turned back to the kitchen to get another cup.
“What are we doing about what?” he asked again over his shoulder.
“Alex,” Dallis chirped. She was grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary.
Sam sighed again and dropped her head back against the back of the couch. Handling Jordan was enough. But now she had to deal with two of them.
Jordan finished fixing his coffee and made his way back into the room. “I think that is a question best answered over brunch,” Jordan stated, pointing at the two of them on the couch. “We need sustenance. I firmly believe in never making a decision on an empty stomach.”
Thirty minutes later, they were tucked into a tiny booth at a diner down the street from Jordan’s apartment.
All three of them had giant steaming mugs of coffee on the table in front of them, but Jordan was also sipping on a Bloody Mary with enough accouterments to be brunch in and of itself.
Both Sam and Dallis were staring at him with disgust.
“What?” he exclaimed indignantly. “Haven’t you ever heard the term hair of the dog and all that?”
“Yes, we have that phrase in Ireland,” Dallis replied. “In fact, we probably invented it, as much as we like to drink and all. But I don’t think they were referring to a dog the size of a mastiff when they said that.”
“How can you even drink that?” Sam chimed in.
She hated Bloody Marys. She disliked most things made from tomatoes.
“I mean, it’s tomato juice. And pickle juice.
And spicy things. And vodka.” She counted each item on the fingers of one hand.
“There is nothing about any of those that sounds remotely appetizing. Especially after last night.” She took a big sip of coffee, wincing because, once again, there was no maple syrup to be found.
“Haters gonna hate,” said Jordan, emphasizing his words with a giant slurp.
Dallis looked at Sam, and they both shook their heads in amusement. Jordan was quick to notice. “Great.” He threw his hands up in exaggerated frustration. “Now I have to defend myself to both of you. As if one of you on your own wasn’t enough.”
“Funny,” Sam said, scratching her chin. “I’ve been thinking that same thing…”
“I am sure you both can handle it.” Dallis’s tone was wry. “But enough about you, Jordan. We’re here to talk about Sam and Alex.”
“You all, I’m fine,” Sam protested. “I’ll figure it out.”
Dallis opened her mouth as if to say something, then thought better of it and closed it again.
She took a sip of her coffee, eyes on Sam.
After setting the cup down on the table, she folded her hands in front of her and waited.
Jordan took her cue, and after one last slurp of his Bloody, he popped a stack of olives in his mouth and then pushed the glass off to the side.
He, too, leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of him, completing the pose by placing his chin on top.
It didn’t take Sam long to feel the weight of their combined gaze and then to crack under the pressure. “What?” she asked. “What are you two staring at?”
“You, mo chroí, we are staring at you,” Dallis replied.
“Yes, mocha, it’s you,” Jordan chimed in as Dallis slugged him on the arm.
“Mo chroí, Jordan. Not mocha,” she chided, slowly enunciating the word. She shook her head. “It means my heart in Gaelic.”
“How come in the nine months I’ve known you, you’ve never called me anything nice, but you know Sam for nine hours, and she gets endearments?”
“You’re wrong. I call you a right pain in the arse all the time.” Dallis looked at him with one eyebrow raised. “So does that question really need an answer?”
Thankfully, she was saved from answering by the waiter unloading their food.
Plate after plate of greasy fried diner goodness was placed before them.
Sam grabbed the maple syrup, fake though it was, and added it to her coffee, taking another giant slug and sighing with contentment.
She added the same amount of syrup to her chocolate chip pancakes and lifted each of them to add a layer of crispy bacon between them.
A small side of french fries completed the meal.
Jordan paused from shoveling huevos rancheros into his mouth to watch what she was doing. “Okay, you’re making fun of my Bloody Mary, but you eat your pancakes like that?”